


Jacob Frye x Reader - Sacrifices

by Oreana



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, F/M, Family, Victorian era, lower class, what if
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-09-30 15:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10166096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oreana/pseuds/Oreana
Summary: What if Jacob Frye was just a normal, everyday man and not an Assassin living in the Victorian Era.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These little 'what ifs' stemmed from the thought of him being in different positions within Syndicate. I even did one where his 40 y/o self was a Templar, trying to sway his lover with power and trinkets, so I guess--if people desire more, I can combine the two ideas into a story.
> 
> Like my content? Shoot me a donation on Ko-Fi~! Every little bit keeps me freed up to produce more! https://ko-fi.com/A4381WZM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am afraid that no more Jacob Frye/Assassin's Creed works will come from me having been harassed out of the fandom for nearly half a year. I've lost my drive and passion for it entirely, but I appreciate the support and love that has come from some of my readers. <3 Thank you all for the fun times, but because of the death threats and other absurd comments thrown my way via Tumblr, I'd rather forget about this fandom entirely. Do not expect anymore updates of these stories.

The machines were loud, but as time went onward, Jacob Frye got used to their sound. The hours themselves were equally long—twelve a day from six in the morning till six at night—but London was cruel, and if he wanted to subject his wife and daughter to the streets or have his beautiful bride embrace the idea of prostitution, he would have to work long hours with only one day of the week off. 

Every day, he couldn’t help but worry what may happen; so many of the machines were new and clunky. People found themselves under random metal plates that were falling apart and onto their bodies, either crippling them or worse given the size and weight of them… Steam so hot it could burn your skin if you were too close to certain engine types, it nearly happened to Jacob that day, but he was lucky to hear the warning signs in time as the pipes trembled and threatened to burst when he began to work on releasing the pressure. He grabbed his paperboy hat and blocked what he could when it hissed forth from its tight confines, only feeling his fingers burn a bit from the nasty bite of the hot air. 

“Bloody hell!” Jacob grumbled, dropping his beloved hat, warn by time. Snatching it back up quickly, he looked to his fingers, now reddened by the mark of the steam. 

“Might want to stick those fingers of yours into the water bucket, lad,” commented an older worker who was leaning on his broom he was using to sweep the floors and keep the workplace as ‘tidy’ as it could be. “Otherwise, they might burn and sting something fierce in the coming days.” 

Jacob couldn’t allow that to happen. If his fingers on his dominate hand began to hurt, the work would become difficult, and he could lose his job. Hat back in place, he hurried over towards the nearby water bucket, but scrunched up his nose at the sight of the water. 

It was dirty, hadn’t been cleaned in weeks, it seemed, and this was supposed to be the water they used to wash their hands. Ever since the Thames had been busied by boats, the water everywhere had gotten polluted, really. Even clean water from a pump was hard to find. 

He relented. Jacob knelt down and put his hurt hand in the lukewarm water, flinching all the same from the attack it had on his injured fingers. “Hurts like hell!” he grumbled, moving his hand back up through the surface of the dirty water to look upon the injury once more in hopes it looked less worrying. 

Still red and still a bit difficult to move for a bit. 

“Keep moving them,” instructed the fellow worker, taking back to his task as he swept upon the floor. “It’ll hurt less if you at least keep those fingers active.” The man’s eyes shifted beyond Jacob to the woman heading their way. “Incoming trouble, lad,” he whispered between them. “Prepare yourself!” 

“OI! You there!” shouted the female in Blighter’s clothing, gesturing angrily at where Jacob was just squatting. 

Jacob turned to the angry voice, but not in time as the boot of the female found its mark upon his cheek and caused Jacob to fall from his stance and into the water bucket, which flipped over and soaked the man through from the act. He would have retaliated…fought back if he could…but his job and family life were on the line, so he resisted though clenched his teeth angrily at the outcome of this humiliation. 

“Sitting there like a useless lump!” she scolded, hands on her hips at the sight. “The boss done told you to get to work on fixing the pressure in this engine! What are you doing!” 

Her shouted words were unwelcomed, making Jacob grumble and roll his eyes out of sight of her. Fixing the bucket back into place and making sure his shilling necklace was still there and his hat was alright, he turned to the woman and raised a brow to her. “Doing as I was told, ma’am,” he said without fault, trying to bite back the sarcasm and annoyance in his tone as he spoke. “Machine hissed out some steam, and I was fixing my hand—.” 

Before she could retaliate at what a bumbling idiot he was being, the whistle blew upon the chime of the clock to signal it was time to go home. 

Jacob never felt such relief. The Blighters were relentless, and he wished, more than ever, that someone would stand up to them and take them down. For now, he couldn’t care to think on it. He could get a few hours with his family and a few moments of peace before work again. 

Tearing off a bit of his off-white, untucked shirt, Jacob wrapped his hand for the time being after dipping the fabric in water he was able to retrieve from another mudded bucket in the factory before his leave. 

It still burned like hell; however, his stomach was telling him that shouldn’t be his focus, and so his weary feet merely made him head back to his home back within Whitechapel in hopes there was enough food for dinner, as he hadn’t been paid enough coin to really buy even so much as a piece of bread. 

Jacob smiled a weary smile at seeing the light of the candle in the front window, enticing him onward. His wife always lit it when he was at work in hopes to guide him back to her embrace long before their child was born. It was like a beacon of hope in some ways to her and a glowing comfort to him. Taking to the old wooden stairs that moaned under his weight, Jacob opened the door and let himself inside. 

The home was quiet for now, but he could hear his wife in the kitchen cooking something, to which he felt relief of sorts as he wanted them to at least have something to fill their empty stomachs with. Breathing a sigh of content at being home again, Jacob removed his hat and tussled with his hair before plopping down exhaustedly on the old sofa they had. 

As aged as the cushions were, Jacob felt comfortable and relaxed. If he could just close his eyes for a minute... 

“Daddy!” cried out his little girl who was five-years-old. Her hair was kept back by a single headband, but her clothing…was the patched up shorts and overalls look for some reason—making Jacob wonder why she wasn’t in her dress like usual. 

His weary, hazel eyes opening wider at that title, Jacob pressed a smile on his lips regardless of how tired he was. “Hey there, princess,” he chuckled, turning to grab onto her and hug her to his chest. Jacob was exhausted, yes, but the sight of his daughter made him forget the fact for the time being. Kissing her cheek, her giggling at the teasing of his beard against her skin, he held her close as she was one of the reasons he worked as hard as he did. 

“I caught a frog today!” she expressed cheerfully at the innocent action. 

Jacob’s chest shook with a stifled laugh. “Digging around in the mud again, are you? I am sure your mum appreciated that,” he commented lightheartedly, moving his palm to his eyes to try and rid them of the weary look and feel. 

“She made me put him back,” the little girl pouted. “And she made me change my clothes again…” 

“That explains what happened with the dress,” he comment, his eyebrows raising to add wrinkles to his forehead at the pieces fitting together now. “You’re not supposed to get all mudded up in nice clothes, love.” 

“Jacob,” praised his wife as she came in from the kitchen, wiping her hands upon her apron before venturing over to kiss him on the other cheek and welcome him home. “It is good to see you!” 

His wife was the other reason he continued to work so hard, making him move his arm about her to hug her tightly from where he was sitting as his legs just wanted to rest. “It is good to be home,” he admitted in a near whisper. 

Noticing the bandaged hand, she motioned to their daughter. “Sweetheart, why don’t you go on and sit down for me in the dining room? Dinner will be ready in a minute.” With their daughter departing from the room, she tenderly touched his hand with a sigh to follow as she noticed he had torn at his shirt to make do for gauze. “Jacob…” 

Her sigh was of disappointment, and Jacob noted it. Regardless of the fingers still being in pain, he moved them to hold her hand with a smile evident upon his features. “I am fine, love. Do not go fretting over me.” 

“And you tore your shirt up…” 

“It is nothing,” Jacob insisted, urging her closer to him as she had taken the seat beside him in time. His lips rested upon her forehead to try and still her worries. In that moment, he tried to redirect the conversation. “Dinner smells lovely.” 

She flinched, toying with her apron a bit. “There’s not nearly enough,” she admitted between them, not wanting to alert their daughter to how hard times were. Seeing Jacob so tired and knowing he was hungry, she quickly leapt at the chance to get him some food. “I won’t eat tonight, Jacob,” she insisted. 

“(Y/N),” he grumbled at the thought, not wanting her to starve. 

“You’ve not eaten well in three days, Jacob!” she whispered in a scolding tone. “I’m worried about you!” 

Jacob raised his hands to her concerns to silence them. “(Y/N), I am fine,” he murmured, though really, he was quite hungry. When it came to their lack of food, he always let his wife and daughter eat. He never wanted to take anything from them being the man of the house. He himself went to either stealing something from the streets or eating leftovers of things he found that butchers and bakers threw out. 

It was the way he had to live, and if it meant he kept a house and his wife and daughter, then he would do it every day. 

“I can give you some of my food,” she continued, knowing Jacob would probably not hear of it. 

“I’ll be fine, love,” Jacob stressed upon every word. Kissing her once more, he motioned towards the dining room. “Come on. Let’s get dinner together, so you both get something in you. I’ll worry about myself tomorrow.” 

After the small bit of bread, meat, and cheese was served between them, Jacob tucked in his daughter after kissing her goodnight with his wife and then headed to their own bedroom. He hardly had the energy to remove his clothes. Jacob pushed his boots off, at least, but then rested face first on the covers with his eyes already closed to try and find comfort in being able to unwind at near eight at night. 

His wife’s hands upon his back, he hummed in content at feeling her touch upon his fatigued muscles. “I love you,” she whispered close to his ear, resting her cheek upon his messy and oily hair. “I love you and appreciate everything you do for us.” 

Jacob’s eyes remained closed, but a smile spread across his lips at her words. “And that is what keeps me going, (Y/N), for I love you both dearly, and I would do anything for you…”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am not going to be fancy with the titles, because I am lazy. X”D The story just continues with Jacob trying to make do in a lower-class state in Victorian London. I am making these stories a bit shorter—kind of in length to how I do chapters of personal stories, just so the ideas aren’t all rushed and thrown horribly together if I ever decide to continue with them.

Another early start, but Jacob was fine to take to it as he threw on his old, patched up clothes and hurried to his factory job. _Just one more bloody day_ … he thought to himself with a sigh as Sunday was coming up soon, the one day out of the week most factory workers had off to enjoy church or spend time with their families. Cringing in displeasure at the painful growl his stomach crippled him with, Jacob halted in his stride as he thought on what to possibly grab as far as food was concerned. He didn’t have much money on him, and the most of which he could do was steal from a market vendor or take something that was burnt, old and discarded in the nearby trash. 

At this point…he would do anything for food. 

He would have used the few bits of money on him, but he needed that for later when he was to buy some food for the family. He only had enough for a few things that could last them through the week, so the man dared not crumble to his selfishness as he felt the small sack of coins weigh his pocket down. 

During this early London morning, most places were starting up for the day and would throw out old meats and other things that he could take for himself. The market was too quiet and low on any distraction about this time for him to try and steal something, so instead, Jacob waited out of sight near one of the local pubs of Whitechapel as the owner soon threw out some meat there within the trash with some bread. Seeing it hit the grotesque bin, he urged himself towards it and grabbed at the bread at least as it looked less rotted and decayed by time than the meat there. 

Breaking off a few of the pieces, he stuffed it into his mouth in a hurried fashion, coughing and gagging a bit at the awful, stale taste. “Better than nothing,” he encouraged, forcing himself to swallow it. It was like a heavy stone being pushed down his throat as he continued to put something in his stomach, which rumbled in a reminder that he was practically starving. 

Eating what he could manage, he left the bread to be for now. There would be no way in hell he would drag that back to his home or bother with eating it further. Jacob just needed a little bit in order to actually tie himself over till dinner. Maybe there would be enough food this time for him to actually participate in the meal. 

Heading to the factory just in time, Jacob worked on re-bandaging his burned hand with a heavy sigh. His fingers still felt stiff and hurt a bit when he moved them, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as before. 

“Any luck, lad?” the man from yesterday asked as he noticed the wound Jacob was still tending to. 

Jacob sighed, lowering his head as his lips twisted to the side in thought. “I am sure it will pass.” His words breathed out more in hope than anything. Jacob wasn’t sure if he would be able to keep using his fingers without the aid of a cream of some sort. Regardless, he had to keep the injury concealed and not act like it was a bother. The factory job was the only one he had, and it would be the worse thing for his family if he got fired. Jacob began to fish about in his coat pockets for his fingerless gloves. _Can’t go to the damn doctor right now, that’s for sure—!  
_

He paused, feeling a folded up piece of paper in his inner right pocket. Confused (as he always kept his pockets clean minus his gloves), Jacob pulled it slowly out to reveal the paper that was signed by his daughter. A smile tugging at the corners of his lips, he unfolded the parchment to reveal a child’s drawing of a mom, dad, and child—obviously a portrait of the family, the best she could manage. Cora was still learning to write, and in shaky letters it wrote out ‘my hero’ near the title of ‘daddy’. 

Again, a smile formed at his lips as he felt his heart beat rapidly in eagerness to return home and thank her, but he would have several hours till he had that opportunity. His fingers touching upon the drawing and small message, Jacob jerked his head to attention when he heard the whistle blowing to signal that everybody should move to their stations promptly. A few Blighters migrating into the area yelling at everybody to get to work, he sighed angrily as he did away with the drawing—folding it carefully back into the pocket from where it came—he rose to his feet, fixed his gloves into place and hurried to work. 

“Move it!” griped one of the brutes, pushing on Jacob’s back in passing. “We don’t got all damn day!” 

Jacob gritted his teeth at the slap, grabbing at his paperboy hat to keep it in place before heading onward to the machine he usually was stationed at. The factory was quiet minus the hustle and bustle of the many workers who were employed there. Taking to the machine he knew and worked at best (regardless of her hiccups), he waited for the equipment to begin functioning, the gears slowly grinding in warning of their waking before getting to work on the incoming metals and making sure to work quickly with the era’s new device.  

 

 

The hours were long and dreadful, but when Jacob found himself alone during his lunch break and at peace, his fingers fondled the gift his daughter had snuck into his pocket sometime before bed, apparently. It made him prepared for the evening to come, more anxious than ever to return home. 

A Blighter coming closer to him as he slowly removed his hand from his pocket to be sure not to draw attention to anything, the nameless man nudged him rather cruelly in passing. “Pack it up, lad. Going home early today as it’s Saturday.” 

Jacob ignored the jab at that moment, finding relief in that statement as there were very few times they would power down an hour early on Saturdays. However, being able to leave early would mean he would have the time to get to the market before everything was to close down, and it was there he worked on cleaning and fixing his station to perfection before hurrying to punch out for the day. 

Milk, eggs, meat, and bread…sadly, that was all Jacob could afford, it seemed. It wasn’t much, but it could be enough to get him through the week. As he hurried on his way back home, he couldn’t help but think of his twin sister in his private moments…wondering where she was now after the two of them lost their father years ago. 

Jacob was married…Evie was not, and he couldn’t help but be concerned about her as she had left his home, not wishing to burden her own brother with an extra mouth to feed. 

“I hope you are well, sister,” he murmured to himself wishing he knew where she had gone off to. The very thought haunted him on occasion, but the last he saw her was a month ago, so Jacob prayed with all his heart she was still alive and well. 

The candle’s light flickered in the window once more, beckoning to the weary Jacob as he ascended the small stairs and headed on inside where he tossed his hat off to the side on the nearby sofa, running his fingers through his oily hair. “(Y/N)? Cora? I am home,” he called, taking the food items to the kitchen as he knew the milk had to go the ice chest to stay fresh as did the meat. 

“We’re in the washroom, dear,” his wife’s voice beckoned from just down the hallway, muffled a bit behind the door in question. 

After putting away what he bought, Jacob moved down to the washroom door to knock on it. “Who is the one in the bath then?” 

The sound of Cora being curious if that was her father whispered to her mother’s ears and Jacob’s as well even if the door attempted to keep her thoughts private. His wife moved from the tub and opened the door, peering into the hallway with a smile to her husband. The dim light gave her such a radiant halo that the working man couldn’t help but sigh in content of the heavenly view. Her lips pecked upon his own as a means to greet him. “Just your daughter, sweetheart.” 

Jacob expressed a tender grin as he nodded over his shoulder. “I got the food here, love. Mutton, eggs, milk, and some bread. Not much of it but if we’re careful, we should be able to last the week.” 

She did her best to find hope in that thought, her fingers squeezing ever so slightly on the door frame. “I’ll get started after Cora’s bath.” 

“Let me handle her bath, love,” Jacob insisted, as he wished to talk to Cora anyway. “You can get started on dinner, and I’ll help you in a bit.” 

(Y/N) shook her head, kissing his cheek this time with a tight hug. She could feel how stiff and sweaty he was. The factory was hardly a lovely place to work—stuffy, full of smoke, ash, and the only visible light that could be seen came from the windows. “You’ve done enough for the day,” she kindly reminded him, pulling him back at arm’s length to give Jacob a smile of admiration. “Let me handle the cooking part. You try and rest a bit after this.” 

“I fear if I lie down, I may never wake again,” Jacob insisted, moving to kiss (Y/N) in passing. “I’ll be there soon.” Opening the door a bit further, Jacob shut it behind him as he ventured in to see his child. 

“Daddy!” Cora praised, moving her hands out of the water and accidentally splashing Jacob in the process. “You’re home!” 

He knelt beside the tub, ignoring the water that soaked the patched knees of his attire as he kissed his daughter’s cheek. “Mhmm,” Jacob answered, folding his arms over the rim of the tub. “And I got your picture as well.” 

Cora acted bashful, moving her fingers close to her mouth with her head lowered though a smile could be seen. “Did you like it?” 

Jacob placed a reassuring touch upon her wet hair, grinning ear to ear. “I did, princess,” he praised, kissing her forehead and trying to embrace her best he could with her in the bathtub. “It kept me strong throughout the day, if I am to be honest.” 

Her fingers removed from her lips, and her smile grew wider. “I would have wrote more,” she spoke in a child like manner, “but I did not know how to spell some of the words.” 

He shook his head at the thought, not even bothering to correct her speech. “It is perfect the way it is.” 

As Jacob finished up Cora’s bath, he wrapped her in the clean towel before fixing her into her nightgown knowing she would be going to bed after dinner. All throughout the wash, however, he noticed she was coughing now and again, and Jacob couldn’t help but find that a bit odd. 

Rubbing her upper arms, he gave her a confused look. “Feeling alright, princess? You’re not getting sick, are you?” 

“I am fine, daddy,” Cora answered simply, but it seemed in the way she was acting she wouldn’t properly know how to say if she were well or unwell, not wanting to be a burden to her parents. 

Jacob sucked in his lips, eyes shifting about his child fretfully. “Are you sure?” 

Cora nodded, almost seeming to imitate her father’s look as her lips too moved inward. 

He couldn’t help but be concerned that she could be showing early signs of some sort of illness. While he could hardly handle the money to go to the doctor, he would willingly sell any item of value and or worth just to let his child or wife go. “You know you can tell mummy and daddy anything, right?” Jacob lightly squeezed her upper arms to show his support. 

“I know,” Cora whispered, moving to where her arms embraced her father’s neck tightly to give him a hug. 

Jacob responded, moving his own about her to hug his daughter tightly. Face buried within her long, wet hair, he breathed his content. “Come on, love. Let’s get to the kitchen and help your mum.” 

Dinner was at least far more filling that evening for Jacob. It certainly helped him wash away the aftertaste of that horrible, stale bread that sat like a log in his stomach. With Cora put to bed and (Y/N) working on the dishes, Jacob found himself moving to the kitchen to aid her. 

“How was work?” (Y/N) asked, hoping to start conversation as she hand washed the utensils. 

“Same as always,” he commented simply, looking back down the hall in which their child rested. “Has Cora been coughing a lot around you lately?” 

(Y/N) slowed in her moving the dishcloth over the plate in her hands as if troubled by that question. “A bit,” she answered, fear giving a light quake to her answer. “It started last night, actually. You were far too tired to hear her, but I did, so I got to my feet and handled it.” 

Jacob’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. So tired he didn’t even hear his own daughter in distress? What the hell kind of father was he? Jacob rubbed the back of his neck with an exasperated moan at his heavy sleeping. “How was she?” 

“I gave her some milk to drink, and she said it soothed her throat.” (Y/N) put the dish away in the cupboard before turning to Jacob who was giving her a criticizing look as if wondering if that was all. She shrugged her shoulders, not sure what else to say. “She said she was fine, so I put her back to rest.” 

“And you trust the words of an innocent child?” Jacob questioned a bit sternly. 

“Jacob, please,” (Y/N) pleaded, “We don’t really have the money to have a doctor come in and look at her. The least we can do is see how she feels in a day or two before taking her to one.” 

He rubbed the weariness from his face before stretching a bit further to pop a few weary bones into place. “Fine,” he breathed out, slapping his arms back to his sides. “I’ll give it a day or two, but if she’s still coughing, I am getting her to someone.” 

“I’ll ask around for an inexpensive doctor tomorrow when we go on our walk together.” (Y/N) put the dishes down, moving her palm to Jacob’s cheek to try and contain his worry. “Maybe we can find some hope in getting her to someone sooner.” 

Since Sunday was Jacob’s day off, he usually went out walking about the streets with his family to get out with and spend time with them. Jacob nodded hesitantly at the thought, however, taking his wife’s wrists to bring her fingers to his lips to kiss her there. “Alright,” he grumbled, hating on the idea of waiting. “But I swear, the moment she starts showing signs of getting worse—.” 

“Don’t think so negatively, Jacob,” (Y/N) pleaded, moving to embrace her husband in hopes that would easy his concerns. “We’ll be fine…we’ll be just…fine…” 

But it seemed even her words held doubt. Embracing his wife in return, he couldn’t say he could blame her—London was hardly the ‘city of dreams’ for ones in their state.


End file.
